


I Want to be Pure, Purposeful, Perfect

by Sukila



Series: Hello Charlotte Week (Sept. 22 - 28) [4]
Category: Hello Charlotte (Video Game), Hello Charlotte (Video Games)
Genre: #hellocharlotteweek, Anri is a sweet child, Bipolar Disorder, Child Neglect, Chronic Illness, Depression, F/F, Getting Back Together, Giving this poor child help, God Complex, Hallucinations, Happy Lesbians, Hello Charlotte Day - 4, Murder, Needles, So much denial, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Therapy, To An Extent, Vomiting, for like a hot five minutes, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16061873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sukila/pseuds/Sukila
Summary: Her kindness became a mask, one that showed an innocent little girl, and hid away the eyes of a curious germaphobe. Because, to that person, infections were all around, reeking of rot and salt like decaying corpses in graves lined with lye.The residents regarded her with lackluster enthusiasm, often keeping to themselves no matter what she did, quickly making the behaviour, obviously, worth nothing. She gave up on it, and they didn’t bother to notice the change, she gave up on school, and no one cared she felt sick and tired everyday.Because Charlotte was missing a vital part of herself, something that everyone else seemed to have, something every Charlotte had:Any fucks to give about doing her part."Welcome to White Society! Let’s all become pure white…!”She would show them their new god.





	I Want to be Pure, Purposeful, Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry! I made the drafts in a weird order so my dates are a bit outta wack! TBut no worries, they're not connected so reading out of order is a-okay!

Charlotte Q84 was meant to be exactly as the others. A sweet, self-sacrificing girl who fell into tragedy and gave herself up for someone else and making a meaningful death. It was an exciting prospect, at least, for the uninformed, a beautifully crafted tale for the unknown audience they just had to please. Afterall, it wasn’t hard to play along when you weren’t aware of the falseness of your realm, and the inevitable end of any story.

 

But one way or another, she began to notice the need to do as she was told. The thankless job of a protagonist and all the shortcomings along with it.

 

Her kindness became a mask, one that showed an innocent little girl, and hid away the eyes of a curious germaphobe. Because, to that person, infections were all around, reeking of rot and salt like decaying corpses in graves lined with lye.

 

The residents regarded her with lackluster enthusiasm, often keeping to themselves no matter what she did, quickly making the behaviour, obviously, worth nothing. She gave up on it, and they didn’t bother to notice the change, she gave up on school, and no one cared she felt sick and tired everyday.

 

Because Charlotte was missing a vital part of herself, something that everyone else seemed to have, something _every_ Charlotte had:

 

Any fucks to give about doing her part.

 

And depression grew into anger, which grew into sadism, which grew into hysteria. And the little girl became the biggest nuisance she could in an effort to be looked at, for someone to acknowledge her presence.

 

They speak of the day like an old legend, the day she changed out her clothes and caught the attention of the student body after calling out someone who’d spilled milk on her. Her hand grabbed him by the back of his collar like an angry mother and her petulant cub turned predator and prey in an instant.

 

Some followed her into that classroom that cleared out with just a few choice words, directed to arrange the desks and push them together. It was a stage, _her_ stage, the elevated ground she walked upon, armed and ready, and plunged a syringe into the boy’s neck, still smiling as he screamed.

 

“Why?” He asked, falling to the floor, beginning to cough up blood, “I- I didn’t mean to-!”

 

“You’re an example, that’s all!” She answered readily, smiling as the virus leaked in through the vents, creating clouds of steam and delirious patrons with white hair and clapping hands for her big show.

 

She turned to the crowd, shoving the boy down and perching herself atop him as he sputtered and struggled, “Welcome to White Society! Let’s all become pure white…!”

 

And Scarlett Eyler watched from the back of the room, halfway through the door, a look of horror plastered on her face. Charlotte met her eyes and smiled, beckoning her forwards, there was no response as she turned tail and rushed out of classroom.

 

That was okay, she’d get her sometime soon… Just like the rest. She wanted to show them what retribution looked like first, she wanted to show them she wouldn’t fall to them, but most importantly…

 

_She took out the syringe, blowing on the needle like an accomplished marksman would his gun, and smiled. This would be perfect._

 

She would show them their new god.

 

_‘White Flu.’_

 

-

 

The residents weren’t happy, not after her thievery and repeated attempts at pestering them. It was only then that they began to inquire on her, to ask what had gotten into her, to ask just what was _wrong_ with her.

 

Where to begin?

 

Cereal filled with bugs, constant sound and scuff marks from mad ramblings and movements, it made her sick, sitting around. She had to keep doing something, whether terrorising or not, keep moving before something, _anything,_ came to put her in her place. A part of it was gruelling, to watch smiles shift to frowns whenever beside her, and though the school was coated with a healthy fear, home would never be.

 

So much tension, clenched fists, averting eyes, the occasional sorrow beneath a dirty look like they actually gave a damn.

 

Because she was a perfect girl, once. Someone who stayed quiet, who did as she was told and pretended loneliness was out of her vocabulary. With empathy to share and a shoulder to cry on for everyone but herself, being a person without need of reciprocation.

 

 _But she was so afraid of disappearing, now, of being just another student in that damn school. And though she loathed to admit it, White Society_ **_White Society was for the sake of herself, not some worldly BS about cleansing the impure and bothersome._ **

 

It was an outlet for darker intentions, where perfect girls shed their gowns and don a new persona of righteousness normally kept to the imagination.

 

She’d been so sick before, always coughing and hacking, skin burning in the slightest of sunlight and making her tired, so _very_ tired. Anri, the stupid little lover girl, tried to help, putting aside her popularity to attempt to pull yet another charity case out of the trash. They were involved, for a time, and nothing could quite measure the contempt left unresolved each time they tried to ignore the pain, realising they could never, truly, erase it.

 

They caught each other, one at the top and the other at the bottom, yet in the same place all along. But nothing felt more wrong than the touch of their hands, where it reeked of truth she just couldn’t- _wouldn’t_ deal with.

 

Because Anri was a _real_ person, or, at least, more real than Charlotte Wiltshire as she was, someone with complexities too difficult to begin learning, and a keen understanding of what people like her would rather not acknowledge.

 

It was funny, even after breaking it off, she trailed after her with fleeting looks, as if she was scared for her.

 

What a stupid, tiny, little human.

 

-

 

She built a following, off of lies and too true realities, it was only a matter of time before more were caught in the web, wasn’t it? Students who’d do her bidding, the need for attendance rapidly decreasing but somehow giving a purpose to the ending hours.

 

 _It was a tether, a reason to be alive, a reason to even get up and live that_ **_damn_ ** _life._

 

And she killed them-

 

_“Forgive me, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry-!”_

 

And she didn’t care when they died-

 

 _Melting skin- Ashes like the eruption of a volcano- Dead. Dead._ **_Dead._ **

 

She didn’t listen when they begged and pleaded for their lives-

 

_“Bye bye, girl.”_

 

And if she said that enough times, if she said it was enough, if she said it made her care about _something-_

 

 _Just let me care about one_ **_fucking_ ** _thing-_

 

Maybe then it would be true, and, even better, she’d begin to believe it for real.

 

-

 

It reached an apex, really, when, despite her newfound affinity for faking confidence, the moment he came at her with a syringe she froze. It was _terrifying,_ the thought of death without making her mark, without having a reason to be remembered besides her sudden 180.

 

A rush of adrenaline, mocking being blurred out by a rapid pounding in her chest like the burning of anger, harsh and firey and all-consuming with no way to empty herself of it. It crept up her body, snaking into a clenched jaw and creating discourse in her abdomen, providing a coating of chilled sweat from each palm that only furthered the dizziness. She wanted to say she leapt into survival mode, that the shift of her body was into a fighting stance, that she was ready to make a stand for her new behaviours for the first time.

 

Instead, she woke up to the smell of vomit, mouth lined with spit and arms filled with needles, covered in tape. Her clothes were missing, sticking out of the trash nearby and reeking of ejected bodily fluids that matted in her sweat-coated hair, blood crusted on her forehead that only served to add its own air of displeasure.

 

Notes lay beside her, but she’s the only one in that light-blueish room filled with unnatural, buzzing light fixtures that were far too right.

 

_‘Heart attack, hereditary issue. Likely caused by extreme stress of adrenaline-based situation, and previous fatigue, possibly via a behaviour-changing mental illness such as bipolar disorder, which would explain prior events.’_

 

Who had bothered with these?

 

In either case, she had things to do-

 

_Clink!_

 

Oh.

 

The telltale click of metal on metal and the pull on her arm she’d attempted after sitting up, it was loose, barely making an indent after she’d stopped yanking on it, but it was, undoubtedly, a restraint.

 

So she was left to her own devices, in a room full of foul odors, by herself, and still feeling a noticeable weight in her chest that burned as it pulsed? Great.

 

Time passed, as it does, but without any way to keep track, what did it matter? There was a banging sound she assumed was the workers’ business, and the buzzing of barely visible bugs as they caught the light of her slightly hazy vision. She would reach to swat at them only to find herself stuck, pulling her head down to land a smack on her nose to quiet the insistent annoyance. It was around one of these more noticeable sessions she came to notice the presence within the room.

 

_“Charlotte?”_

 

Or...she’d thought it was there a minute ago...clearing its throat like it was bothered by her strange activities, pink hair in the corner of her vision.

 

 **_“Charlotte,”_ ** _he’d over pronounce, obviously trying to catch her attention._

 

They were obviously messing with her.

 

“Charlotte!” She turned her head, unexpectedly meeting eyes with the very person she’d sworn was missing a moment before, hands clenched into fists and brow furrowed in annoyance.

 

Ah, Huxley’s tiny twin, she’d wanted to say, unable to form the complex words in such a state and settling for meeting his eyes and trying to ignore the bug on her nose, “Are you listening?”

 

She cocked her head, why wouldn’t she be? Isn’t he supposed to be the smart one?

 

“Right…” Felix sighed, putting his chin in his hand, the clipboard still held below and holding at least half his attention, “Good to know you’ve got some concept of reality… Regardless, as much as I’d love to berate you over the stupid jokes, this is meant to be an actual evaluation…”

 

Charlotte held up a hand, reaching as far as she could and directing attention to the chain hanging from it, he seemed to get a chuckle out of the clear bother on her face, “As if you’d have stayed otherwise.”

 

Though she hated to admit it, he was right, but not about the usefulness about whatever exam this was as question after question seemed to come up. Simple stuff, like sleeping habits, stupid stuff, like why she kept smacking the stupid winged pests off her face. He was about to leave too! After all those question, all that insight, and he just gets up to leave her there!

 

“I-” The single syllable brought on a coughing fit, and she kept her pronunciation quiet and raspy after that, “If you’re going to leave me here, at least do something about these stupid bugs, mouse.” She sounded ridiculous, especially with the odd nickname just jumping into her consciousness and making an almost tangible addition to his head with a pair of round ears…

 

“For the _last_ time. This room is completely sterile.”

 

Wait...last time? Had she asked that question before? Didn’t he see these stupid-?

 

He was gone, with not even a sound of the door closing, with a pen left behind to prove he was, something noticeably different from the trashcan next to her, empty of the previous insects, the smell of vomit disappearing almost instantly.

 

It was like...none of it was ever even there…

 

-

 

The clock had passed over 182 times about 6 times. 12 to 12, time and time again, spinning in a circle that was not like her, or, at least, that was what he claimed when she’d asked.

 

Anri’s letter was an anchor in her hands, tangible, real, littered with ink and feeling and little lapses in judgement where scribbles or tears were present. It was too real to be fake, he’d told her, and whether or not it was true...she just believed him instead of asking.

 

She came, sometimes, white hair, milky eyes, and all. Scarlett too (though she didn’t remember them ever meeting…), sporting the same look. White Flu’s lasting effects having culminated in their appearances despite being cleared from their minds. They told her things happening at school, the donations of her former club and general cleanup of the events from the minds of most (after all, law enforcement didn’t exist in the false realm, or so Scarlett had told her).

 

It was funny, apparently it had been Aiden who’d put Huxley’s mania to an end, just as Felix had put an end to hers the day she nearly felt her end take hold. Speaking of Felix, he’d disappeared for awhile, off looking for something with Scarlett that, at least, seemed to have done something good for him. He looked...happier, and was surprised when she’d claimed to have noticed that.

 

She was younger, in that way, still meant to be playing with colour and finding her way with the guidance of someone she’d once looked upon with...disdain? Was that the word? It was so foggy, lately.

 

It was just so different from the memories she did have, of places outside this nice house of hers, full of big halls and the greetings of roommates as she found her way back to that little cubby in the lab (they’d told her going back to her room was fine...but it didn’t feel like _hers_ anymore).

 

She was still tired, but not thoughtlessly so, not to the point of madness taking hold and giggling through murders before flopping back into bed and wanting to sleep forever and ever; (they told her that was called ‘death,’ Bennett liked to talk about it most of all, but not when Felix was around).

 

It felt real, and tangible, just like the paper in hand, and the person before her, smiling just because she was there- Something that seemed like a dream, at times.

 

“Hi, Dr. Honikker!” She spouted as he walked in, fidgeting a bit in a signal she knew he’d understand, each having picked up the other’s habits over time.

 

“Hello, Charlotte,” he waved off the greeting with a bothered sort of gesture at the formal tone, but smiled a little despite himself, “Anri’s shown up again today… And at the wrong time…”

 

She wasn’t sure of the implication, but followed when he gestured for her to come back later, off to greet her friend and quickly navigating the halls, lined by hanging drawings, posters, crafts, and long pieces of coloured string for when she forgot the way (it had happened too many times to count, truly).

 

It looked lived in, much more than before, according to Florence, whatever before had been, Baldwin and Goodwin had once described it as, ‘grey,’ but not purely based on the colour…? In either case, different, a sort of easily seen change of pace.

 

A banner marked with, ‘Happy Birthday!’ hung in the foyer, the room decorated by happy balloons and the face of those she held close, the choice grin of her makeshift therapist from the doorway informing her it was a planned sort of surprise, indeed.

 

Yet another change was a new presence, walking in and giving her a scrutinising look before gifting her a few green ribbons, which were quickly secured in her hair and on her left wrist.

 

She used to hate green, she thinks.

 

But to the Charlotte of right now, it was the most beautiful colour in the world.


End file.
